


Pale Skin and Fragile Bones

by lydiasbones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, all of their friends are mind-blowingly intrusive and have no personal boundaries whatsoever, derek is a cop, just the way i like it, stiles is an author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:56:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiasbones/pseuds/lydiasbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not going to do anything!” Lydia defended, looking far too affronted to be genuine. “It just seems that the universe has decided that the two of you will continue to run into each other at an improbable frequency for the foreseeable future. I’m banking on that.”</p>
<p>“You don’t bank on anything,” Stiles said grimly. “You make things happen.” </p>
<p>Lydia smirked. “That’s not entirely untrue.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Or, the one in which Derek arrests one of Stiles' friends and Stiles holds a grudge. Also, Stiles wrote Derek's favorite book. But they don't know that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Skin and Fragile Bones

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for details about the passage of Pale Skin and Fragile Bones that Derek reads.

“Danny,” Stiles moaned, tossing down his cards, “You’re killing me here, man.”

“You’re the one who decided to play poker despite having the most expressive face on the east coast,” Danny intoned, collecting his winnings with a cupped hand. Danny’s voice sounded scarily Lydia-esque. Stiles was beginning to worry about her influence on him. Was Danny impervious to emotional blackmail yet?

“I’m gonna go _broke_ , Danny,” he tried, placing one hand dramatically against his heart. “Do you want me to starve to death?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Cut the dramatics, Stilinski. We’re betting _jelly beans_.” Danny held up one glorious, lemon-flavored jelly bean and tossed it at Stiles’ head.

“Exactly!” Stiles replied indignantly. “And you just took three of my licorice ones. Those are my favorites, man!”

Danny, Stiles, Scott, and Allison were currently sitting on the floor of Scott and Stiles’ apartment and playing a rather vicious round of poker. Danny and Allison were pretty consistently wiping the floor with Scott and Stiles (Allison more often than Danny), which was a great injustice considering neither of them even really _liked_ jelly beans. They were just doing this to torture Scott and Stiles.

“I don’t understand how we keep losing,” Scott sighed, looking down at his pathetic hand sadly.

“Easy,” Danny replied smugly as Allison patted Scott’s back comfortingly. “Neither of you can lie for shit.” He pointedly shoved a licorice jelly bean into his mouth and chewed victoriously. Stiles was only sorry that he didn’t notice Danny’s mean streak before they became friends. _Really_ , how else could Danny have been friends with Jackson Whittermore?

Allison just grinned and popped a lime jelly bean into her own mouth while dividing the rest of her winnings in half and giving them to Scott and Stiles. “Stop pouting, you two. It’s not endearing.”

Stiles watched in disgust as Scott eagerly gathered up his pity jelly beans and began to toss them into his mouth. Then, he decided that the pity probably wouldn’t make the jelly beans taste _much_ worse and quickly grabbed his own share before Scott tried to eat them, too. Allison had purposefully put more licorice ones in Stiles’ pile, bless her.

“Are Lydia and Isaac still at the bar?” Danny asked, kicking his feet out and scattering the rest of the cards.

“Yup,” Scott replied, still devouring his pile of jelly beans. Stiles still wasn’t sure how his best friend was a nurse. Surely he should have died of diabetes by now.

_Could_ someone die of diabetes?

Stiles figured personal health didn’t have much to do with nursing abilities, or else Scott and Isaac wouldn’t be the incredible nurses that they were (although Stiles was convinced that the reason Scott and Isaac were so popular at the hospital was half due to their competency and half due to their jawlines).

Stiles had met his crazy and wonderful friends while he was studying at Columbia University. He was initially terrified to leave the small town where he and his father had spent their entire lives for the large and bustling New York City, but his dad had insisted that an opportunity like Columbia would be stupid to pass up. Thankfully, Scott had been Stiles’ roommate and the two had instantly bonded like brothers, making room in their friendship for Allison once she and Scott started dating halfway through freshman year. Stiles already basically considered Allison to be his sister-in-law.

Stiles met Lydia in his Classical Mythology course during his second semester at Columbia and was immediately intimidated by her intelligence and beauty (she had walked in with a floral skirt and vicious high heels and had corrected the professor about some ancient, obscure myth within ten minutes). He developed a crush on her that lasted for about a semester, but those feelings soon faded into a fiercely loyal friendship that Lydia was able to return (especially after she found out that Stiles was fairly intelligent when he wasn’t flustered by Lydia’s very presence). The two became very close and by graduation, Lydia was at the top of their class and Stiles was in second. He was surprisingly okay with losing the top spot to someone like Lydia.

During their sophomore year, Stiles had introduced Lydia to his friends and she had instantly bonded with Allison. Lydia brought her boyfriend Jackson and his best friend Danny with her, but Jackson eventually left Columbia after his and Lydia’s nasty breakup in their junior year. Last Stiles heard, Jackson was wreaking havoc at Cambridge.

The last addition to their group had been Isaac, who was a quiet and timid boy that Scott met in the nursing program. Although it had taken a while for Isaac to open up, he eventually became a part of the group just as much as the rest of them.

Stiles loved his friends.

“My only regret is that Lydia isn’t here so that I can kick her ass, too,” Danny grinned, and Stiles quickly thanked all of the deities he could think of that Lydia and Isaac were out at the bar, because poker was the one thing on planet Earth that Lydia wasn’t good at, and she didn’t exactly take it well.

Allison made a face like she agreed with Stiles and stole one of the root bear jelly beans that she had given Scott.

“I’m surprised that Lydia convinced Isaac to go to Lennon’s, to be honest,” she said, her eyebrows scrunching up adorably as she chewed on her jelly bean.

Lennon’s was a small bar on the street where Stiles and Scott lived. Allison and Lydia lived a block away on the same street and Isaac and Danny lived on another street that was about a ten minute walk from Allison and Lydia’s apartment. Although they had all graduated from Columbia and were now working, they had kept their apartments close enough to each other that they could get together almost every day. Stiles figured that they were pretty codependent, but he couldn’t find it in him to care much.

“Lydia’s been making Isaac open up,” Stiles informed Allison through a mouth full of jelly beans. Allison offered Stiles a dangerous look that had him swallowing the rest of the sticky mess in his mouth before continuing to address her. “She said, and I quote, ‘It’s a shame to have the jawline go to waste, Lahey, we’re getting you laid tonight.’”

Scott made a face, but Danny just nodded like he completely understood Lydia’s logic. Seriously. _Way_ too much time with Lydia. Allison just laughed.

“Up for another round?” she asked, beginning to deal out cards.

“No way, not me,” Stiles said hurriedly, scooping up the remaining jelly beans that Allison gave him and launching himself onto the single barstool in their kitchenette, narrowly avoiding falling off (their other barstool broke one night when Isaac got very, very drunk and ended up taking part in some fairly questionable activities with said barstool).

“Chicken,” Danny accused, shooting Stiles a look from his position on the living room floor. Stiles shrugged as Allison neatly stacked the cards, wrapped a rubber band around them, and proceeded to throw them at Stiles’ head with one sharp flick of her wrist.

“Abuse!” Stiles cried, rubbing his forehead. Allison’s aim was fucking _precise_. Allison shot him a sweet grin that completely belied her inner badass. Stiles would be impressed if he weren’t in so much pain. He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly clever (words were Stiles’ only weapon, okay, don’t judge), when Scott began to speak.

“Shh, guys,” he said, holding up a hand as his phone started to play “We Are Young,” because Scott was a cliché like that.

“’Sup, Lydia?” Scott greeted, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Stiles is here, he’s—yeah, we’re all here, we—oh, fuck, _what_?”

Stiles froze, watching as Allison and Danny did the same. It took _a lot_ to make Scott McCall cuss. This couldn’t possibly be good news.

“How? Are you _serious_? Two thousand…yeah, yeah, I’m sure we can scrounge it up. What was the address?” Scott waved a hand around frantically and Stiles immediately reached into a kitchen drawer and tossed Scott their emergency notepad and pencil. Scott scribbled something down and murmured, “Yeah, we’ll hurry, tell him we’ll be there soon,” before hanging up.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked as Scott began to search for his car keys. Scott was the only one of them who actually had a car, and they very rarely used it, usually preferring to walk, take the subway, or grab a taxi.

“They’re over by the television, man,” Danny said as Scott continued to flip over random items in the living room.  

Scott nodded gratefully and picked up his keys, tossing them to Stiles. “Isaac got arrested,” Scott informed them tensely, his shoulders hunched. “We need two thousand dollars for the bail.”

“ _Isaac_ got arrested?” Danny asked incredulously as Stiles jogged towards his bedroom. He was pretty sure he had at least four hundred bucks in there. “How?”

“He punched some asshole who was messing with Lydia at the bar,” Stiles heard Scott reply tersely as Stiles dug through his doors, trying to gather his scattered bills. “The other guy’s in jail, too.”

“Fuck,” was Danny’s elegant reply, and when Stiles came back out of his room, Allison was handing Scott one hundred dollars out of her wallet.

“Lydia and I probably have another thousand at the apartment,” she told Scott as Danny pulled some cash out of his own wallet and thrust it at Scott.

“Nah, I think I’ve got enough for the rest,” Scott replied, handing off the money to Stiles and heading towards his own room. “I haven’t had the chance to go the bank in a while.”

Stiles quickly counted all the money, adding in Scott’s as Scott came out of his room with a bundle of cash. They ended up with more than enough and, with some quick reassurances that they would call Allison and Danny once they had Isaac, Stiles and Scott hurried out of the building and to Scott’s car.

“Sometimes I think that you pay more on parking for this damn thing than it’s worth,” Stiles sighed, slipping into the passenger seat as Scott started the car, “And sometimes I’m really fucking grateful that you have it.”

Scott just nodded tensely as he started down the street towards the address he had written down.

“Hey, man,” Stiles murmured gently, placing one hand against Scott’s shoulder, “He’s gonna be okay, you know?”

Scott smiled at Stiles, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I know, buddy. I just…”

“You feel responsible for him.” Stiles understood. Isaac had been frighteningly timid when they first met him, and all of them felt pretty protective of the man.

Scott nodded. They spend the rest of the trip in silence, neither of them bothering to turn on the radio. When they reached the police station, both men shot out of the car and jogged towards the building.  

They found Lydia inside, tapping her foot impatiently and looking extremely uncomfortable in her dark green sequined dress and tall high heels. Her hair seemed a little ruffled and her red lipstick was slightly smudged, but other than that, she looked okay. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. She perked up as she caught sight of Scott and Stiles.

Scott immediately went to the front desk as Stiles pulled off his jacket and handed it to Lydia, who wrapped it around herself gratefully and squeezed Stiles’ hand in reassurance. Then, the two headed towards the desk, where Scott was talking to a woman whose name tag identified her as Officer Carlie.

“And what is your relationship to Mr. Lahey?” Officer Carlie asked calmly, looking fairly unconcerned by the fact that Scott looked as if he were about to vibrate out of his own skin.

“He’s a friend,” Scott replied, clutching the money in his hand a little tighter. Carlie nodded.

“Yes, well, if you’ll just come into our office, we have some paperwork for you to fill out…”

“Of course,” Scott replied hurriedly, following Officer Carlie into the office. Stiles and Lydia stayed behind.

“What happened, Lydia?” Stiles asked as soon as Officer Carlie was out of earshot. Lydia made a face.

“Some asshole came onto me in the bar. He was quite persistent, even though I _very firmly_ disregarded his advances. He put his hand on my thigh and I warned him to back off, and then Isaac was there. He told the guy to go away, but the sleazebag just reached out and _groped_ me.” Lydia shuddered, wrapping Stiles’ jacket around her more tightly. Stiles knew better than to give her anything close to a pitying look, so he just nodded at her to go on.

Lydia huffed and lowered her voice. “So Isaac punched the guy in the jaw and suddenly they’re fighting. And then there’s an officer and Isaac is getting arrested along with Douchebag Extraordinaire.” She ran a hand through her wavy hair, mussing it up a little more. “I don’t even know how it all happened. It was pretty fast.” She looked extremely tired. Stiles felt a surge of protectiveness flash through him on both Isaac and Lydia’s behalf.

“This guy seriously arrested Isaac for _defending_ you?” he exclaimed. “What a jackass!” Seriously, why the hell had _Isaac_ been arrested for this shit?

Suddenly, Stiles heard someone clearing his throat behind him. He whipped around to see—wow. Like, seriously. _Wow_.

The guy was about Stiles’ height, with gorgeously tanned skin and dark, smooth hair. He had the very definition of “sexy stubble” scattered across his jaw and his arms looked fucking _fantastic_ where they were crossed against his broad chest. Stiles allowed himself to get lost in the guy’s sharp jawline and multifaceted eyes for a moment before the man was sticking out a hand and saying, “Inspector Derek Hale, the jackass you were just talking about.” He looked as if he were caught somewhere between mildly amused and _extremely_ annoyed.

And—oh, fuck. There went any chance of banging the guy. But honestly, Stiles had exactly _zero_ interest in this man’s looks anymore, because _this_ was the jerk that arrested Isaac. You don’t do bad things to Isaac, okay? You just don’t.

“ _Deputy_ Inspector,” Stiles corrected, not bothering to take the man’s hand. Suddenly, the man looked caught off guard, pulling back his hand and crossing his arms again. “Excuse me?”

“Deputy Inspector,” Stiles repeated, pointing at Hale’s uniform. “Your uniform has oak leaves, no eagle. You’re not an inspector. You’re a deputy inspector. That’s a lower rank, in case you weren’t aware.” Never let it be said that Stiles wasn’t a little shit.

If Derek was surprised by Stiles’ knowledge, however, he didn’t show it. He also didn’t say anything else, so Stiles took that as a pass to continue.

“And as a _Deputy Inspector_ ,” Stiles said fiercely, making sure to emphasize the man’s actual rank, “I’m sure it didn’t occur to you that maybe the guy who was harassing the girl deserved a punch in the face and that the man who delivered said punch probably deserved a medal, not a couple of hours in a jail cell.” Stiles felt Lydia grab his wrist and dig her nails into it. He spared her a glance. _Too far_ , her eyes told him.

Stiles didn’t care. He was _livid_.

“And _maybe_ , next time you see someone defending a girl against a misogynistic _asshole_ —not that said girl actually needed _defending_ —” Stiles added with a wince as Lydia kicked his shin sharply with her heel, “You could do the world a favor and stay the _fuck out of it_.”

Derek looked flustered and annoyed, as if he hadn’t expected to get a verbal beat down from some random man at the station tonight. Well, tough.

“I was just doing my job,” Derek said roughly, his face stoic. “Beating someone up isn’t the answer.”

“Oh great, another mindless government drone,” Stiles bit out, and he watched as Derek’s face hardened. Oh, shit. Maybe he had taken it too far.

“I could have you arrested under contempt of a cop,” Derek reprimanded harshly, his face suddenly looking darker. Stiles opened his mouth to inform the deputy inspector that he most certainly _could not_ (because if nothing else, Stiles was incredibly consistent in his lack of self-preservation instinct) when Lydia dug her nails into Stiles’ wrist once again. Stiles hissed in pain.

“I’m very sorry, _Inspector_ Hale,” Lydia said, smiling sweetly, “He’s just a little worried about our friend.”

Derek glanced up from where Lydia’s hand was still around Stiles’ wrist and shot Lydia an unimpressed look. “Yeah, well, teach him to control himself better,” he said, and Stiles watched in fascination as Lydia’s eyes narrowed.

“Sorry, Deputy Inspector, but I’m not his keeper.” And then she turned on her heel and walked away, dragging Stiles with her.

Subtlety, thy name is Lydia.

_God_ , Stiles loved his friends.

After the disaster that was their encounter with Hale, Stiles and Lydia ended up taking home a fairly tense Isaac and an even tenser Scott. Neither party had pressed charges (Lydia for the harassment and Douchebag Extraordinaire—whose name ended up being Matt—for the assault), so much of the paperwork was avoided.

Once they were home, Allison made everyone tea while Stiles regaled Isaac with the story of his and Lydia’s run-in with _Deputy_ Inspector Hale. Isaac seemed to relax as the story went on (and it was a testament to how upset Isaac looked that Lydia allowed Stiles to exaggerate the details of their conversation without comment), and he even let out a little laugh and a, “Well, she kind of is,” when Stiles told Isaac about Lydia’s parting comment.

“Nonsense!” Stiles declared, ignoring the pleased look Lydia shot in Isaac’s direction. “I am a strong independent white man who don’t need no woman!”

“Please, sweetie,” Lydia replied, inspecting her nails. “You’d be lost without me.”

And Stiles couldn’t really argue with that.

\--

“I have _never_ , in my entire _life_ , met someone so blatantly disrespectful, obtrusive, and _rude_ ,” Derek seethed, pointedly ignoring Laura and Cora, who were laughing behind their hands. At least Erica was _trying_ to look sympathetic. She reached out and patted his hand.

“Well, sweetheart,” Erica said gently, “Maybe he was just trying to be a good citizen by dislodging that giant stick up your ass. It can’t be healthy, you know.”

And with that, Laura, Cora, and Erica were all openly laughing. Laura even fell off her chair and onto the floor, rolling around in pleasure at Derek’s humiliation.

Derek needed to find new friends. And, for that matter, a new family.

“Hey, man,” Boyd said comfortingly, walking over to Derek and placing a beer in front of him. “It’s all good. You’re never gonna have to see any of them again.” He patted Derek’s shoulder with a solid hand and dropped onto the barstool next to Derek’s.

Derek nodded at Boyd thankfully and took a swig of beer. When all else failed, Boyd would be in Derek’s corner. Probably. Even Boyd got sick of Derek’s moping sometimes.  

“You guys are supposed to support me, like Boyd,” Derek grumbled as the three girls continued to laugh on the floor of Boyd and Erica’s apartment. “Maybe he should give you lessons.”

“I’m sorry, baby brother,” Laura gasped out in a voice that sounded distinctly not sorry at all, “But this guy just sounds _great_.”

“Plus, he has a point,” Cora pointed out as she finally evened out her breathing. “This Isaac guy doesn’t sound like he was really the instigator.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Derek hissed, frustration overcoming him as they shot him with the same arguments he had already heard from Isaac’s friend. “Violence is not the answer!”

“You’re a _cop_ , Derek,” Laura replied sweetly. “The entire point of your career is that violence is sometimes the answer.”

Derek shot Laura the most venomous glare he could muster before deflating and taking another swig of his beer.

“What’s the guy’s name, anyways?” Erica asked, plopping down on the barstool on the other side of Derek and grinning at him widely. Derek shot her an unimpressed look before admitting that he didn’t know.

“This guy has sent your peace of mind into a havoc that only Laura can usually cause and you don’t even know his name?” Erica asked as Laura preened at the acknowledgment of her skills.

“How the hell am I supposed to know his name?”

“You could have asked him?”

“Asked him? When? Between him accusing me of lying about my rank and questioning my ability to think independently?”

Boyd must have decided that this was as good a time as any to betray Derek, because he cut in with, “Well, that first one could have been avoided. Why didn’t you just tell him that you had just gotten the promotion and hadn’t gotten the chance to change your badges yet?” Erica nodded sagely.

Derek sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “Because I was too busy being outwitted by a skinny loudmouth with stupid clusters of moles and a weirdly expressive face and really big hands.”

Derek immediately regretted his choice of words when Cora gasped from behind him. He turned around just in time to see her eyes widen comically. “You have a _crush_!” she accused, pointing at Derek like the goddamned six year old that she was.

“I don’t have a _crush_ ,” Derek denied, annoyed. “I am a full grown man with adult responsibilities and a job that entails protecting the innocent citizens of New York City—”

“Yeah, like New York has any innocent citizens,” Laura scoffed.

“And that guy was inconceivably rude,” Derek continued as if Laura had never spoken.

“You totally have a crush,” Erica agreed solemnly from her place on the couch. Laura made an affirmative noise from the floor next to Erica, where she was painting Erica’s toenails purple. Derek wasn’t entirely sure when they had decided that his problems were less important than pedicures, but he figured it was some time after they were done laughing at said problems. He looked to Boyd for help.

“Sorry, man, but they’re right. You’ve got a crush.” And with that, Boyd kissed Erica on the cheek and left for his shift at the hospital.

Derek took another swig of beer.

\--

“Here, Stiles,” Scott said, tossing some envelopes at Stiles as he walked through the door.

“Thanks, man.” Stiles fumbled with the envelopes for a moment before he had them all neatly stacked. Then, he looked up at Scott. “Wasn’t it my turn to go get the mail?”

Scott waved a hand and plopped his share of mail down on the kitchen counter. “What are you doing?” Scott asked, opening the first envelope.

Stiles sighed and turned away from his laptop, cracking his knuckles and digging into his own pile of mail. “Writing, man. Always writing.”

Scott grinned at him. “Must be so hard, being a famous author with millions of fans and whatnot.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. You save lives. I write pretty words.” He flipped through the contents of his third envelope and— _holy shit_.

“What?” Scott asked, concerned, and Stiles realized that he must have said the last part out loud.

“I just…I knew that _Pale Skin and Fragile Bones_ got pretty popular, but I never realized what that would mean for my paycheck, you know?” Stiles breathed, staring at the check in front of him. Scott scrambled across the room and plucked the check out of Stiles’ hands.

“ _Wow_ ,” Scott managed. “You—man, you really _are_ a famous author.”

“Are we just now realizing that?” Lydia asked, striding into the apartment imperiously with Allison on her tail. “Stiles, I _sent_ you the fanfiction.” Stiles and Scott had made four extra keys to their apartment for each of their friends in case of emergency. They really should have expected the overuse, considering the lack of personal boundaries that they all displayed on a regular basis.

“Yeah, I mean, I got called for all the interviews and met the important people and shit, but… _money_ ,” Stiles choked out as Scott nodded vehemently at his side, and neither Lydia nor Allison tried to hold back the ensuing eye-roll.

“Yes, yes, Stiles, you’re absolutely brilliant,” Lydia crooned sarcastically, collapsing on the ratty futon that Scott and Stiles had found in their freshman year of college. Lydia had doused it with enough disinfectants to kill the entire population of Eurasia before she deemed to sit on it. It had smelled like a hospital for _months_.

“I’m going to go buy us some celebratory coffee,” Stiles declared, “Because I am now a rich man and can afford things like overpriced coffee.”

He ignored Lydia’s silent judgment, Allison’s open laughter, and Scott’s, “I want extra whipped cream, dude!” on his way out.

\--

“What do you want, Laura,” Derek intoned, watching his sister suspiciously.

“I can’t just want to have a nice coffee with my little brother?” Laura asked brightly, taking a sip of her cappuccino. “I just want to catch up, Derek!”

“We don’t need to _catch up_ ,” Derek emphasized hopelessly. “You barge into my apartment every day and ask for frighteningly intimate details about my personal life. You’re worse than _Mom_. You’re worse than _Uncle Peter_ , Laura. Do you realize how bad that is?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Drop the dramatics, sourpuss. Go get yourself some coffee and then come and have a chat with Auntie Laura.” She shooed him away with one elegant hand. Derek was questioning all of the life choices that had brought him to this point.

With the most melodramatic sigh he could muster (because even Derek couldn’t resist screwing with his older sister), Derek stomped over to the line, letting out a little huff as he saw that there were three people before him.

The man in front of him turned around—probably in response to Derek’s fairly histrionic entrance—and—oh _fuck_. This was _not_ Derek’s life.

“Not _you_ ,” the man sighed as Derek thought _exactly_ the same thing. “Jesus, you are literally the only thing that could sour my perfect day. _Of course_.”

And because Derek had absolutely no gage of social cues, his only response was, “What’s your name?”

The man—Derek was going to call him Plaid from now on, because it seemed that he had an unhealthy affinity for it—whipped around and shot Derek a glare that would rival one of Derek’s own. “None of your business,” he snapped. Derek sighed.

“It doesn’t make sense for you to hate me, you know,” Derek pointed out. “Your friend was perfectly fine and I was just doing my job.”

Somehow, Plaid seemed to become even angrier. “Isaac was probably _traumatized_ by the whole experience, and if I have to hear _one more thing_ about you just ‘doing your job’—” The man broke off and his gaze fell down to Derek’s chest.

Derek looked down and realized that he was still in uniform. _Proper_ uniform. He had finally gotten his eagle medallion so that his uniform represented his actual rank.

“ _Inspector_ Hale,” Derek smirked, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” And if Plaid didn’t take his hand, that was okay. That wasn’t really the point, anyway.

Plaid let out a little huff of annoyance and turned his back to Derek as he approached the counter. Derek listened as Plaid ordered four coffees, instructing the barista that the Frappuccino had to have extra, _extra_ cream— _no, you don’t understand, I mean, like, more cream than coffee, okay?_ Then, with his order placed, he walked over to the waiting station, where he proceeded to alternate between glowering at Derek and ignoring Derek’s existence entirely.

Really. Derek had _no_ idea what he had done to deserve this.

By the time Derek ordered his black coffee, Plaid was gone, and by the time he was back at Laura’s table, she was laughing so hard Derek was scared she would hurt herself.

“Don’t tell me,” Laura gasped between hiccupping laughs, “That was him? Oh god, Derek, was that him? Was that the boy whose friend you arrested?”

Derek let out a reluctant, “Yes,” that had Laura in hysterics all over again.

“Oh god, I’ve never seen you look so sullen before! Just ask him on a date already!”

“Laura!” Derek hissed, looking around as if Plaid himself would be there, listening in on their conversation. “For the last time—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have a crush on him,” Laura interrupted smoothly. “Save it for someone who’ll believe your shit, Der.”

“He totally has a crush,” Cora agreed, sliding into the seat next to Laura as Erica sat beside her. Derek started and looked between his younger sister and best friend. “How did you two get here?” Derek asked, already fairly certain of the answer.

“Laura texted us,” Erica replied brightly, waving her phone in the air with one perfectly manicured hand. “She said you were in line making your grumpy I’ve-got-a-crush-but-I-can’t-admit-it face at a very cute boy with nice moles and big hands.” Cora snickered. Derek had no idea why he had let the moles and hands bit slip.

“Give it up, Der-bear,” Cora said, stealing Laura’s coffee cup and taking a sip. “There are three women here who are well aware of your taste in men, and that boy is all of your kinks wrapped up in one nicely built package.”

“It’s true.” Laura snatched her coffee back from Cora before continuing, listing each of Plaid’s attributes off on her fingers. “He’s lean, he has moles, he’s got nice hands, he’s snarky as fuck, he doesn’t respect authority—”

“Which is a _hilarious_ attribute for you to be into, considering the fact that you’re a _cop_ ,” Erica mentioned, examining her nails carefully.

“—and he’s clearly not afraid of you _or_ intimidated by your _apparently_ mind-blowing levels of attractiveness. So why aren’t you banging him yet?” Laura raised one eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Derek managed through clenched teeth, “It has something to do with the fact that he _hates my guts_.” There was really no point in pretending he wasn’t attracted to Plaid anymore; none of them were buying it.

Erica cooed sympathetically and patted Derek’s wrist, but Cora just snorted.

“So turn on the Hale charm!” she demanded. “Woo the guy!”

“Derek is too grumpy to be charming,” Laura said sadly, twirling the remains of her coffee in her cup. “He just woos people with his abs. Sorry, sweetie,” she added at Derek’s affronted look.

“That’s not true,” Erica disagreed, shaking her head vigorously. “Remember that one time when we were all on vacation in Venice? Derek was reading that book by that author that he’s in love with—what’s-his-face—and he totally talked to that girl about the book for like two hours. She was practically wetting herself with attraction.”

Everyone at the table took a moment to grimace at that mental image before turning on Derek.

“Sure, Derek,” Cora agreed happily. “Woo him with Stiles Stilinski!”

“Your favorite author’s name is _Stiles Stilinski_?” came a judgmental voice. Derek turned and watched as Boyd slid into the last seat available at the table.

“You’re _kidding_ me,” Derek sighed, looking at Laura. “You texted _Boyd_ , too?”

Laura looked practically alight with deviousness. Boyd just looked resigned.

“You have a crush on a guy that hates you and your favorite author’s name sounds like some sort of strange viral infection or a poorly named dildo. It might be time for me to get involved, Derek,” Boyd said reasonably. Derek regretted ever introducing Boyd to Erica. She had made him _much_ more intrusive, he was sure of it.

“First of all, I don’t have a crush,” Derek informed Boyd, pointedly ignoring Cora’s scoff, “And second of all, Stiles is probably some sort of penname or something.”

“Probably?” Erica repeated.

“Ooh, I’ve got this one,” Cora giggled. “Derek absolutely _refuses_ to look up anything about this guy. How he looks, where he’s from, what his favorite ice cream flavor is—Derek doesn’t want to know any of it. He says it’ll ‘ruin his perception of the author and thus affect his view of the books.’” Cora rolled her eyes as if this were especially dense of Derek. “He _only_ ever reads the guy’s writing. Nothing less, nothing more.”

“That sounds about as sad as your crush on Nice Hands,” Erica grinned.

“Look,” Derek pleaded, desperate to change the subject, “I’m probably never going to see this guy again, okay? I don’t know his name, or where he lives, or what he does, or pretty much _anything_ about him other than the fact that he has three friends named Isaac, Lydia, and Scott and he can’t stand me. So can we just drop it?”

Cora sighed, “Fine,” and Erica nodded, but it was Laura that Derek was worried about. He stared her down until she rolled her eyes and muttered, “For now.” Boyd patted him on the back.

It was probably the best he was going to get.

\--

“Jackass cops who don’t actually lie about their ranks but are still mindless government drones with really nice stubble and fucking _intrusive_ questions—he’s still trying to arrest me, isn’t he? Oh god, he wants to know my name because he’s trying to get a _warrant_ , I’ll _sue_ that asshole—!”

“Stiles!” Lydia snapped, thumping her coffee down on the table and narrowing her eyes at the man who was practically vibrating with rage. “What on _earth_ has got you so infuriated with this man?”

“I don’t know!” Stiles exploded. He was going to continue, but then Isaac and Danny were walking through the door and Isaac was plopping down next to Stiles and stealing his coffee to take a sip.

“What’re we talking about?” Isaac asked brightly.

“The overwhelming hatred that Stiles has developed for a certain police officer,” Lydia sniffed delicately, taking a sip of her coffee. Isaac frowned.

“Stiles,” Isaac murmured gently, bumping his shoulder against the other man’s, “You know that it’s okay, right? I’m fine. He was perfectly nice about it, and he was just doing his job. I _did_ punch that Matt guy pretty hard.” Isaac shot Stiles a pleading look.

Stiles sighed and rubbed his face. “Why aren’t you guys more angry about this?” he asked, addressing the room as a whole. “This guy messed with _one of us_. No one does that and gets away with it. No one! The last time someone I slept with called me ‘scrawny’ Lydia actually made the guy _cry_.”

“Stiles,” Allison said reasonably from across the room, where she was leaning against a confused-looking Scott, “The real enemy here is Matt, the sleaze that touched Lydia. Inspector Hale was just trying to take control of the situation. He _had_ to arrest Isaac. It’s not like he was cruel about it.” Isaac nodded desperately.

“Whatever,” Stiles huffed, standing up and walking towards the kitchen to toss his coffee cup.

“Hey, man,” Scott said, clearly noticing the need for a subject change, “How’s the new book going?”

Stiles shot Scott a grateful look and came back to the living room, bumping his hip with Isaac’s as he sat down to let Isaac know that he wasn’t mad at him.

“Not sure yet,” he admitted, kicking his feet up into Danny’s lap and crossing his arms behind his head. Danny rolled his eyes but didn’t move Stiles’ feet. “I mean, I feel like I don’t exactly have writer’s block, but I’m getting there, you know? I’m not writing anything brilliant yet. I’m just winging it.” Stiles sighed. “And the whole goddamned world is waiting for me to write the next _Harry Potter_. I’m not meant for this kind of pressure!”

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Lydia scolded. “You’ll figure something out. You always do.”

\--

Derek’s apartment was in a state of chaos that only Laura could cause.

“I cannot _believe_ you threw a party in _my apartment_ without my permission,” Derek hissed. Laura rolled her eyes and tossed back her dark hair. She was wearing a short floral dress with dark lipstick and small studs in her ears. Everyone at the party who had an affinity for females was looking at her like she was something to eat. Personally, Derek wanted to bite her in a far less sexy way.

“Please, Derek, it’s hardly a party,” she replied. “There are only, like, twenty people here.”

“Twenty people _in my apartment_!” Derek cried out, throwing up his arms in exasperation. “Why didn’t you have this thing in you and Cora’s apartment? It’s bigger than mine, anyway.”

“You wouldn’t have come,” Laura huffed in annoyance. “I’m just trying to get you to lighten up, Der.”

“Come on, Derek,” Cora implored. “We just want you to have some fun!”

Derek sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. He knew his sisters meant well, but sometimes it just drove him _crazy_ when they pulled shit like this. “This isn’t my idea of fun,” was all he said. Cora looked upset, but Laura just looked even more stubborn.

“You haven’t even spoken to anyone at the party yet, maybe you’ll find someone you like—”

“I do _not_ ,” Derek enunciated, shooting Laura the darkest look he could manage, “Need to be _set up_ with anyone, Laura Hale.” And with that, Derek picked up the book on the living room table—it was his favorite book and everyone knew to never lay a finger on it—and stormed out of the house.

“Damn it, Derek!” Laura called after him. Derek slammed the door.

He headed for the library that was about six block away from a house, enjoying his walk through the streets of New York City.

New York City had always had a calming effect on Derek, ironically enough. He loved the loud, bustling aura, the hurried people, the overwhelming traffic. He loved that he could walk wherever he wanted and no one would give him a second look unless he wanted to be seen. He loved eating at questionable restaurants and searching for an anonymous fuck at dark bars. As everyone in the city rushed further and further away from the epicenter of calm, Derek felt himself being pushed in the opposite direction. He understood very definitively that he was not the type of person who belonged in New York City, just as he understood that this was exactly why New York City was perfect for him.

Derek didn’t go this library very often, but it was the closest one to his apartment and he really needed to get away from Laura. He loved her to death, but he was so tired of her invasive bullshit that he wanted to toss himself off a building. When would she learn that she needed to let him live his own life?

Derek sighed as he walked up the steps of the building and found a nice corner in the library with an empty table and a view of the window. It was mostly hidden by some bookshelves and there was a mild lamp sitting right next to it. Derek sat at the table and opened the book.

_Pale Skin and Fragile Bones_ was the most incredible book Derek had ever read, and every time he went back through it, he fell a little bit more in love with the story, the characters, and even the author that he knew nothing about. _Stiles Stilinski_. Boyd was right. It was a pretty weird name.

Derek let himself fall into the book, forgetting all about Laura and the party and the boy who hated him for no good reason. He read his favorite passages and ran his fingers fondly over the dog-eared pages and—

“This isn’t happening to me. Seriously, this isn’t my life.”

Derek closed his eyes for a moment before looking up. That voice was unmistakable.

Sure enough, it was Isaac’ friend. He was wearing a dark grey Henley instead of his usual checkered button-downs, and although he still looked harsh and angry, the lines around his mouth seemed softer than before.

“There are plenty of other tables,” Derek sighed, making a wide gesture that encompassed the mostly empty library. He was not in the mood for a confrontation today. “You’re welcome to leave and my mindlessness in peace.”

Plaid bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair, which looked a little wild. Derek desperately tried not to think about the man’s mouth. He turned back to his book.

“I can’t,” Plaid blurted, causing Derek to look up in surprise. “ _You_ move.”

“Why the hell would _I_ move?” Derek asked, exasperated. It looked like he wasn’t going to get any peace today. “I was here first!”

“I always sit here!” Plaid exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the laptop tucked under his right hand. “This is my working space. When I can’t concentrate at my apartment, this is where I come. Every time. This table is the only place where I can get work done.”

Derek didn’t have time for this. “Well, I’m not moving.”

Plaid spluttered angrily for a second before letting out a disgruntled, “Well, I’m not going anywhere else,” and plopping down on the seat across from Derek’s gracelessly. Derek shot Plaid a raised eyebrow and turned back to his book, only to look back up when Plaid let out a squeak.

Derek raised one eyebrow. “Can I help you?” he asked, because he was mostly unwilling to deal with Plaid’s shit today, but the guy looked pretty horrified, and, well, Derek _was_ a cop.

“What are you reading?” Plaid asked in a voice that was decidedly higher pitched than it had ever been during their previous conversations.

Derek looked down at his book and frowned. Seriously? The guy was upset that Derek was _reading_? “ _Pale Skin and Fragile Bones_. Why? Is that a problem?”

Plaid nodded, but he still seemed deeply concerned by something. “Um, is it…do you actually like it?”

Suddenly, Derek felt fiercely protective. This was by far the most life-changing book he had ever read, and he was _not_ going to let this man shit on it.

“Yes, actually,” Derek hissed. “I’ve read it four times since it came out. _Pale Skin and Fragile Bones_ is some of the most beautiful literature _ever_ written and Stiles Stilinski just so happens to _brilliant_. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Plaid looked surprised, but didn’t back off. “Do you actually think he’s that good?”

Derek frowned at the man suspiciously. “Have you even _read_ it?” he asked. It would be just like Plaid to be contrary just for the sake of pissing Derek off.

“I…well, yes, I guess.” Plaid didn’t seem convinced. Derek shook his head and went back to his book.

The two men worked in silence for a few moments, Derek reading the book and Plaid typing away on his laptop, letting out irritated huffs every couple of minutes. Derek was tempted to ask what had the other man so frustrated, but that would require a level of civility that Derek wasn’t in the mood to provide.

“What’s your favorite passage?” Plaid asked suddenly. Derek looked up.

“What?”

“Of…of the book,” Plaid said in consternation, gesturing vaguely at Derek’s book as if it might attack him if he got too close. “What’s your favorite passage?”

“You want me to read you my favorite passage?” Derek asked incredulously. Plaid just nodded. For the first time, however, he didn’t look like he wanted to stab Derek in the neck with a fork, so Derek decided to humor him. Besides, he had never been able to resist sharing _Pale Skin and Fragile Bones_ with anyone who was even mildly interested in it. He quickly flipped to his favorite section in the book.

“This is Sam Black Crow’s speech,” he said softly. “The one she gives when she’s in the car.” Derek wasn’t sure why he was sharing this with Plaid, the man who had decided that his existence was little more than despicable and unfortunate. This passage _meant_ something to Derek; it was beautiful and important in so many ways. But there was something special about this man, too, and for whatever reason, Derek found himself drawn to him. So he took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and began to read the lines that had made his eyes tear up and his heartbeat pick up and his hands shake the first time he ever read it.

“‘ _I can believe that things are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen—I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it._ ’”

Derek shuddered as he stopped, realizing that his voice had gone rough at the end, caught up in the beauty of the writing and the thought that had been put behind Sam Black Crow’s character. He almost didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the look on Plaid’s face. He didn’t want anything to ruin this moment, this scene, these words. But Derek had done plenty of hiding in his life, so he looked up to see Plaid—crying?

Maybe not crying, exactly, but certainly tearing up. The man looked emotional and weary and overwhelmed and surprised and maybe just a little bit proud, although Derek wasn’t sure why that last emotion would come into play. He looked as if someone had shown him the light, and that someone was Derek.

“That’s my favorite scene in the book,” Derek whispered, suddenly feeling as if he were telling Plaid a secret that no one else could know.

“I—yeah, yeah,” Plaid whispered, his voice raw. “I’ve never…” He seemed to be searching for words, which was enough to surprise Derek, given the affinity for words that he had shown several times before. “I’ve never heard anyone read it like that,” the man managed finally. “I never knew it could be read it like that. I never knew it could _mean_ something like that.”

Derek nodded, unsure of what he could say.

“You know,” Plaid said softly, “The author…he based Sam Black Crow’s character on himself. She’s him. That passage…that’s him in a nutshell.” At Derek’s look, he hurriedly added, “I think I heard it in an interview once.”

Derek nodded again. Then, he decided to share a bit of information about himself, because for some reason, he felt like he and Plaid were having a moment.

“I don’t know anything about the author,” he admitted. “And I don’t want to. I don’t want to know what he looks like or what he wears or what his voice sounds like or what kind of shit he says when he doesn’t have the backspace button to edit things out. I just want…I want this to be sacred, you know? I don’t want anything to influence the way I feel about this book.”

Plaid nodded, his face a mixture of sadness and relief. Derek didn’t understand the man.

“Yeah,” Plaid whispered gently. “Yeah.” And with that, he closed his laptop, picked up his things and turned to leave. Before he did, though, he turned back to Derek.

“Thank you,” he said softly, and that surprised Derek more than anything the man had said to him so far. “Thank you for reading it for me.”

By the time Derek nodded his acknowledgment, Plaid was gone.

\--

“I don’t know what to _do_ ,” Stiles moaned, dropping his head into his hands. Allison rubbed his back soothingly, because Allison was a badass bitch who also an angel with wings made of cotton candy.

Lydia, however, was the devil. “Just ask him out on a goddamned date, Stiles. The amount of sexual tension between you two on _day one_ was thick enough to gag anyone without a four mile radius.”

“We do _not_ have sexual tension,” Stiles hissed, glaring at Lydia were she was lounging on a deep blue loveseat that she and Allison had in their apartment. Lydia’s parents had pulled out all the stops and furnished the girls’ apartment for them, resulting in a tastefully decorated, very expensive décor.

“Yeah, you do,” Scott sighed as if just saying the words was causing him physical pain.

“Scott!” Stiles cried, a little hysterically. “You’re supposed to be on my side, man!”

“Stiles,” Scott reasoned, “You’ve been talking— _yelling_ —about this guy incessantly for like, a month. You only get that obsessed with people when you have a crush.”

“I have no reason to have a crush on him,” Stiles tried, but Lydia just scoffed.

“His cheekbones? His stubble? His extremely muscular arms? The fact that he likes your books?”

Stiles pouted. “The first three reasons are incredibly shallow and I only found out that last bit today.”

“So then you’re shallow,” Allison grinned and Lydia sighed, “Aren’t we all,” in a sage voice.

“It doesn’t even matter,” Stiles sighed, dropping his head into Allison’s lap and letting her run her fingers through his hair. “I’ll probably never see him again. I should just forget it.”

“Oh, you’ll see him again,” Lydia said carelessly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Stiles frowned at her suspiciously. There was _way_ too much confidence in her voice.

“Why?” he asked wearily. “What are you going to do? Oh god, Lydia, _please_ don’t do anything,” he pleaded.

“I’m not going to do anything!” Lydia defended, looking far too affronted to be genuine. “It just seems that the universe has decided that the two of you will continue to run into each other at an improbable frequency for the foreseeable future. I’m banking on that.”

“You don’t bank on anything,” Stiles said grimly, “You _make_ things happen.” Lydia smirked.

“That’s not entirely untrue.”

\--

“He cried when I read him a passage from _Pale Skin and Fragile Bones_ ,” Derek managed dumbly, staring blankly at the wall of Erica and Boyd’s apartment.

Boyd didn’t seem particularly impressed, but Erica nodded understandingly.

“It was like he _got it_ , you know?” Derek said, trying desperately to convey what had happened between him and Plaid at the library. “He _understood_. I could see it on his face. He felt the author. He felt the words like I did.”

Derek was aware that he was sounding less and less coherent by the minute. In fact, Boyd was openly looking at Derek as if Derek had lost his mind. But Derek couldn’t bring himself to care. This guy was _special_ , Derek could tell. He just could.

“You bonded over a man named _Stiles Stilinski_ with a man who hates you because you arrested his friend for punching a guy at a bar,” Boyd informed Derek in the most matter-of-fact voice Derek had ever heard from the man. “This is the weirdest romance I’ve ever seen.”

Erica smacked Boyd on the back of the head. “Boyd!” she scolded. “Let Derek have his nerd-bonding moment. Not all of us can be normal.”

And with that, Derek felt any semblance of support that he had been receiving from Erica fade away.

Erica must have seen his face, because she immediately began to pet his hair. “It’s okay, Derek, honey,” she cooed. “You’re weird. I’m sure Nice Hands is weird, too. You two can be weird together.”

“Kind of like the way you and Boyd are horrible friends together?” Derek snapped, immediately regretting his words until Erica started laughing.

“Yeah, exactly like that,” she agreed, kicking her heels up onto the coffee table and sticking her tongue out at Boyd when he raised an eyebrow at her. Then, she pulled out her phone and began to type.

“Oh, no.” Derek snatched Erica’s phone out of her hands, ignoring the multitude of expletives she shouted at him as she tried to get it back. “You are _not_ getting Laura and Cora involved in this.”

Erica didn’t even try to pretend that that wasn’t exactly what she had been doing. “Why not?” she whined. “They’re your sisters!”

“Yes,” Derek agreed. “And that’s why it’s their job to make my life a living hell. And I’m not in the mood.”

“Well,” Boyd stated, standing up and going over to the coffee maker, “The way I see it, you have two options. One: continue to be a coward who refuses to take control of his life. Two: ask the guy out on a date.”

Derek glared. “Where am I supposed to see him again? _I don’t know anything about him_.”

“You could start by asking his name the next time he you see him,” Erica pointed out, elbowing Derek in the ribs. Derek winced.

“There’s no guarantee I’m going to see him again.”

Erica grinned wickedly. “Please. The universe has clearly decided that the two of you are meant to be together. You’ll meet him again.”

Derek looked at her suspiciously. “I swear to god, Erica, if you’re planning anything…”

Erica just smiled.

\--

_An interlude of sorts:_

_“So, Officer Carlie,” Lydia said sweetly, blinking innocently at the woman at the front desk of the police department. Officer Carlie did not look impressed._

_Lydia continued, undeterred. “I was wondering if I could speak to Inspector Derek Hale.” She gave the officer her brightest smile._

_Officer Carlie raised one pristine eyebrow. “If you want to yell at Inspector Hale some more, you’re not going to do it on my time.”_

_Lydia laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’m doing him a favor, actually.”_

_“Carls, I need a favor!” came a loud, bright voice from the door. Lydia turned to see a tall woman with dark hair and tanned skin next to a curvy girl with blonde ringlets falling over a smirking face._

_“Laura, Erica,” Officer Carlie sighed in the voice of a woman who was far too acquainted with said names and wished she could erase them from her memory forever. “How can I help you ladies?”_

_“We need the name of the boy who yelled at Derek,” said the taller one. Lydia turned on one heel and examined the woman carefully._

_“And why would you want to know that?” Lydia asked sharply. The woman looked confused for a moment before her face lit up with amusement and delight._

_“Do you know Nice Hands?” asked the other woman excitedly, her curls bouncing as she spoke. “Wears too much plaid, yelled at Derek, has moles?”_

_Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Depends on who wants to know.”_

_The taller woman walked forward, sweeping her dark hair away from her face and putting out her hand. “Laura Hale, Derek’s sister. It seems that my little brother has developed a bit of a crush on your feisty law-breaker.”_

_“Stiles didn’t break any laws,” Lydia corrected immediately, reaching out to take Laura’s hand. Before she could, however, Laura hand dropped in shock, her eyes widening comically._

_“What?” Lydia asked suspiciously, watching as Laura quickly calculated something in her head. The blonde behind her—that one must be Erica, then—was practically shaking with excitement._

_“Not…not Stiles Stilinski,” Laura said carefully, and then Lydia remembered what Stiles had said about the library. She grinned wickedly._

_“It seems we have a lot to discuss,” Lydia said pleasantly, and oh, she liked the look that crossed Laura’s face. It looked_ wicked _._

_“Yes,” Laura agreed. “It seems we do.”_

_Officer Carlie still didn’t look impressed._

\--

“No.”

“Derek!”

“ _No_.”

“Derek, now you’re just being stubborn.”

“Laura, I already told you that I don’t want to know anything about my favorite author. I have read all four of his book and haven’t googled him _once_. Why the hell would I go to a _book signing_?” Derek wasn’t sure how he could be clearer about this.

Laura pouted. “Because I got you tickets, Der! Special tickets! You get to meet him _personally_ with these bad boys. You get to have a special chat with him before anyone else even sees his face!”

“That’s _exactly_ what I don’t want!” Derek yelled.

“ _Derek_ ,” Cora said softly. Derek turned towards his younger sister, absolutely livid, but her soft, concerned expression made him deflate.

“We’re worried about you. You’ve been hiding in this shell ever since Kate—” Derek flinched. “—and we just want you to be okay again. This is a baby step, right? Meeting your favorite author? It’ll be fun, Derek, I swear. You’ll get to tell him how much you loved the book and ask him questions about it and he’ll _love_ you, how could he not?” Cora’s voice was earnest and persuasive, and Derek sighed tiredly. He always had been a sucker for emotional manipulation.

“Fine,” he murmured, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll go to the goddamned book signing.”

“Yes!” Laura crowed a little too victoriously from the other side of the room. She shared a glance with Erica, who looked practically catatonic with excitement. Derek narrowed his eyes.

Those two were _so_ up to something.

\--

“Ouch, Lydia, _Jesus_! That fucking _hurt_!”

“If you would just _stay still_ —”

“Since when do you care what I wear to book signings, anyways?”

Lydia huffed and shot Stiles the angriest look he had seen from her in a long time. “I’m not allowed to want my best friend to look good?”

“Hey!” Scott called from across the room. “I thought I was your best friend, man!”

Stiles rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re my brother, bro. Lydia is my best friend. Just like I’m your brother and Isaac is your best friend and Allison is Lydia’s sister and I’m her best friend.”

Stiles turned back to Lydia in order to give Scott time to process that. “No, Lydia, you’re not. Because you _never have before_. Now tell me what you’re planning.”

“I’m not planning anything,” Lydia snapped fiercely. “I’m just tired of watching you going to these things dressed like a fourteen year old who just discovered plaid. You’re _famous_ , Stiles. You’re respected for reasons entirely unknown to me. I just want you to look like a professional.”

Stiles glanced down at himself. Lydia had wrestled him into a light blue button down and had rolled the sleeves up to right below his elbow. He was wearing light khakis and dark brown loafers that were distractingly uncomfortable but apparently very attractive. She had also coiffed his hair into the “perfect swoop,” as she was referring to it, and for some reason, commanded him to make sure that his hands were on display throughout the night.

“My hands?” Stiles had asked in confusion. Lydia had simply pinned him with a look that didn’t welcome any more questions.

“Oh! And one more thing,” Lydia said quickly, jumping a little. “Two fans got special tickets to your signing. They’re going to get to meet you and talk to you before the actual book signing.”

“Special tickets?” Stiles asked, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and wincing as Lydia slapped it away. “Since when is that even a thing?”

“Since now,” Lydia replied. “I already cleared it with your agent.”

“Okay,” Stiles said slowly. “And why didn’t agent tell _me_?”

“Because,” Lydia said happily, “I told her I’d take care of it.” She patted Stiles’ cheek with one perfectly manicured hand.

Stiles sighed in resignation. His agent was pretty badass, but nobody could outdo (or outscare) Lydia. He didn’t really blame Heather for not telling him.

“You look perfect,” Lydia smiled brightly, brushing imaginary dust off of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles grumbled a little, but leaned down to kiss Lydia on the cheek before grabbing his things to head out.

“Who’s Danny’s best friend, then?” Scott asked behind him.

“Jackson, for some incomprehensible reason,” Lydia snapped before Stiles could say a word.

Stiles was still chuckling when he reached the street.

\--

“I’m not sure why I’m doing this,” Derek muttered, walking into the large library that was going to hold the book signing. People were already beginning to line up outside of the library, loudly milling around and chattering excitedly about the opportunity to meet the author who had written three New York Times bestsellers within four years and who hadn’t been shunned by a single well-known critic yet.

“Because,” Cora reasoned from his side, “It’ll be good for you open up a little. Plus, this is exciting, Derek! You get to meet your favorite author _in person_ , before anyone else gets the chance to meet him. Be excited!” She smacked him harshly in the side. Derek winced.

“Why exactly did they make you come with me?” He asked uncomfortably, gripping _Pale Skin and Fragile Bones_ tighter in his hand. When Derek had informed Laura that he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone writing in his copy of his favorite book, Laura had looked at him like she wanted to strangle him with her floral scarf. Derek brought the damn book.

“To make sure you don’t chicken out!” Cora reminded him brightly. “Plus, you had two tickets.”

“How did Laura even _get_ these ‘special’ tickets?” Derek asked suspiciously, but Cora just shrugged.

He sighed as they reached the doors at the front of the line, ignoring glares from fans who clearly thought that he and Cora were cutting.

“Excuse me, sir,” said a woman in a black pencil skirt and pink button down stationed at the front of the building. “But you’ll have to wait in line until—oh!” The woman paused in surprise as Cora eagerly thrust their tickets into the poor lady’s face. Derek internalized a sigh.

“Oh, special tickets to the signing! I’m very sorry, right this way.”

The woman led Derek and Cora into the library and up a large set of stairs. There, they walked through a couple of bookcases before reaching a room labeled, “Conference Center.”

“Mr. Stilinski is waiting for you,” the woman said, smiling, and Derek took a deep breath and opened the door.

“I know, Heather,” said the man who must be Stiles Stilinski, his back turned to the door. “It’s really fine. Lydia is fucking _scary_ , trust me, I’ve been there.”

Fuck. Fuck, fucking _Christ_ , this was _not_ happening. Derek must be mistaken, there was absolutely _no way_ that Stiles Stilinski was—

“Oh my god, _Inspector Hale_?”

—Plaid.

“Heather, I’m gonna have to call you back,” Stiles murmured into his phone, his eyes still locked on Derek. He pressed a button on the phone before placing it down on the table. “Derek,” he breathed, and Derek choked a little.

“You—fuck, you knew and you didn’t—did— _shit_ —” Derek turned to Cora, eyes blazing. “Did _you_ know?”

Derek watched as Cora’s face went from true confusion to—as she gave Stiles another once over—horrified understanding.

“Oh, god,” Cora whispered. “Is that—no, Derek, I swear I didn’t. Laura didn’t tell me, I promise.”

Derek let out a shaky breath and turned back to Stiles. “I can’t believe this,” he said tiredly. Then, a little louder, “You’re an asshole.”

Stiles bristled for a moment, but Derek watched as he visibly calmed himself down before replying.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know how to tell you that day at the library.”

“You let me— _god_ , you let me read your own words to you. And you—you cried! You acted like you had never heard them before!”

“I hadn’t!” Stiles exclaimed, throwing up his hands, and Derek desperately kept his eyes from following them. “At least, not like that. No one had ever read them to me _like that_. It was like…it was like you actually _got it_.”

“Of course I _got it_ ,” Derek cried, feeling more and more unstable by the second. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. Everything you write is so thoughtful and honest and brutal and brilliant and…fuck, and you hate me for _nothing_. Absolutely _nothing_.”

“It’s not—I don’t hate you, okay?” Stiles’ face twisted in consternation, as if he were trying very hard to get something out. “I was angry at first, yeah, because that’s just the way I am. I protect my friends, and when someone fucks with one of them…I went overboard, okay? I did. I went overboard and I don’t hate you. I swear.” Stiles let out a shaky breath and ran his hand through his hair, which stuck up a little wildly as a result of his ministrations. He opened his mouth a few times as if to speak, but eventually just closed it and desperately avoided Derek’s eyes.

Derek looked at Stiles carefully, trying to figure the man out. He knew what had drawn him to Stiles in the first place, of course—his fiercely protective nature, his exuberant hand gestures, his overwhelming wit, his long fingers and pale skin and clusters of moles…he was the kind of person that Derek could identify with, could fall in love with. But afterwards? Stiles had been merciless. Stiles had hated him with the kind of passion that surprised even Derek, who was fairly good at holding a grudge. And Stiles had _lied to him about the book_. Why couldn’t the man have just told Derek that he’d written it? Why the evasiveness?

Derek didn’t realize that he’d said the last part out loud until Stiles let out a quiet, “I was nervous.” Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles took in a deep, quivering breath before opening his mouth to speak.

“I was nervous, okay? You seemed to care about the book so much and I knew that you didn’t like me all that much and I thought…well, I thought that at least you liked one version of me, you know? At least you could keep loving the book. I didn’t want to sabotage myself, man. I wanted you to like Stiles Stilinski the author even if you didn’t like Stiles Stilinski the person.”

Derek couldn’t help but grin. “So your name is really Stiles Stilinski? It’s not a penname?”

Stiles seemed confused for a moment before laughing a little. “There are only four people in my life who know my real name, including my dad. And I practically made Scott, Ms. McCall, and Lydia sign blood oaths before I told them.”

Derek smiled a little before muttering, “I don’t dislike you.”

If Stiles was surprised by the subject change, he didn’t show it. Instead, he asked, “Yeah?”

Derek nodded, and Stiles beamed. “Okay, cool,” Stiles said, nodding like a drummer in a garage band. “Yeah, I can work with that.”

“You can work with that?” Derek asked incredulously, but Stiles was undeterred.

“Yeah, totally,” he replied easily. “We’re gonna be friends.”

“Friends.” Derek repeated. Stiles churned on, either unaware of or unwilling to acknowledge Derek’s expression.

“Yeah, man. I’m totally going to woo you with the Stilinski charm. You don’t like me today, you’ll feel neutral towards me in a week, and in a month, you’ll even find my annoying habits endearing! You’ll be able to stand my presence and whatnot.”

Derek bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “You’re that sure of your wooing skills, huh?”

Stiles frowned. “Well, no,” he admitted timidly. “I had a ten year plan to woo Lydia for a while, and that didn’t turn out as fruitful as I’d imagined. But we _did_ become friends and that’s actually one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, even if I _am_ going to kill her for going behind my back to set this up, because I _know_ she had something to do with this. So yeah. Yeah, maybe my wooing skills aren’t so bad after all.”

Derek just barely kept himself from saying that no, they really weren’t.

\--

Stiles was _exhausted_. He loved his fans, he really did, but they asked weirdly invasive questions and asked him to sign strange body parts and tried to console him about his dead mother a decade and a half after the fact (Stiles had admittedly written a collection of short stories based on his mother and the panic attacks that he had for years after her death, but sharing it with the world had been a reluctant decision that he sometimes regretted).

Stiles was taking the subway home. He looked down at his phone and stared at his most recently added contact in awe. _Derek Hale_.

He and Derek had exchanged numbers before Derek and his sister left. Cora had looked like she was going to pee herself with excitement the entire time.

And now Stiles didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

Stiles had fucked up, he understood that. Derek had been doing his job and Stiles had come in and overreacted, but that was who he was. Isaac was his friend and Stiles would always be in is corner, no matter what.

But now Stiles really _liked_ Derek and he couldn’t help but think that his grudge-holding tendencies were going to nip him in the butt. He really wasn’t actually sure why Derek had even bothered to give Stiles his number.

The way Derek had read Stiles’ book…no one had ever seemed to understand Sam Black Crow like that, to understand _Stiles_ like that. He could see it on Derek’s face, that he just _got_ it. That he got the desperation and the idealism and the negativity and the anger and the happiness and the pure, unfiltered _contradiction_ that was this character—and, by extension, Stiles. For all that Stiles loved Scott and Lydia, they had never looked like they understood all the contradictions that made him who he was. They more just… _accepted_ it.

So yeah. Stiles didn’t want to fuck this up.

So instead of sending the usual unfiltered word vomit that was in his nature, he sent Derek a simple _Hi_.

\--

“He hates me,” Derek said in shock, staring at his phone. Laura shot out of her sulk in half a second flat (she and Erica had been moping on the couch together ever since Derek had come home and yelled at them both for interfering in his life).

“Who hates you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Stiles,” Derek admitted, and now Erica was off the couch, too.

“You have his _number_ ,” she screeched, her eyes lighting with joy.

“Wait!” Laura turned to Cora and gave her a vicious look. “You _knew_ he got Stiles’ number!”

Cora shrugged, but didn’t seem to apologetic. “And you knew that Stiles and Nice Hands were the same person, but I didn’t see _you_ sharing information.”

Laura didn’t look particularly apologetic, either. “You would have told Derek.”

“Like she _should_ have,” Derek snarled, but Laura wasn’t buying it. “You have his _number_ ,” she accused, and Derek couldn’t help but grin a little.

“Yeah, so maybe the meeting wasn’t at catastrophic as I led you to believe. Consider it your punishment.”

Derek laughed over Laura and Erica’s outraged cries for a moment before his face dropped again. “Shit.”

“What?” Laura asked.

“He hates me,” Derek repeated, looking down at his phone again. What had he done this time?

“Why do you think he hates you, sweetie?” Cora asked wearily, in the tone of one who is intimately familiar with her brother’s dramatic tendencies.

Derek didn’t answer, instead electing to shove his phone violently in Cora’s face. When Cora recovered from the initial shock of having a hard object shoved into her personal space followed by two very excited girls crashing into her in order to look at the phone, she was able to read the text on Derek’s screen.

_From: Stiles Stilinski  
Hi._

Laura and Erica seemed to visibly deflate. Cora just rolled her eyes.

“How exactly does this mean he hates you?” Erica asked skeptically, looking at Derek’s phone screen as though she could will it into showing her whatever it was showing Derek.

Derek huffed. “Are you kidding? This guy is _all words_. He’s an _author_. He word vomits and says things for no reason other than to fill the silence and _at the very least_ , he makes interesting observations or witty comments. And all he can say is _hi_?”

“Derek,” Laura said reasonably, “He’s probably just trying not to scare you off, okay? He doesn’t want you to be overwhelmed or anything.”

“Yeah,” Erica agreed, nodding her head excitedly. “And he texted you first, so obviously he wants to talk to you. Just text him back!”

Derek looked at his phone as if it could tell him the meaning of life if he just glared hard enough. Eventually, Cora left the room.

\--

“You did _what_?” Scott screeched. Danny jumped.

Stiles tried not to look as terrified as he felt as repeated, “I texted him…hi?”

Scott looked as though he was about to go into cardiac arrest. Stiles was feeling distinctly concerned. Before he could say anything, though, Scott was yelling at him again.

“Stiles! Stiles, he’s gonna think you _hate_ him!”

Stiles looked around for help. Allison was laughing behind her hand, Danny had his patented “I’m judging you” face on, and Isaac looked like he wanted to hide under a bed. Lydia, however, did not look even mildly blindsided by Scott’s behavior, bless her.

“Scott,” she snapped, raising one finely threaded eyebrow in the direction of the shaking man. “Calm down. Derek will understand that Stiles is just trying to give him space.”

Scott shook his head violently. Damn. If he was openly disagreeing with Lydia, he was really panicked.

“No, Lydia, you don’t understand!” Scott cried. Lydia looked at him dangerously, but Scott went on. “When Stiles sends you a one word text, he is _angry_. Like, _really_ angry, Lydia, I swear. The last time he sent me a one word text I had finished all the Pop Tarts without telling him. He didn’t talk to me for a _week_.” Scott looked horrified by the memory.

At Lydia’s judgmental look, Stiles shrugged sheepishly. “It was actually the longest we’ve ever gone without communicating. I had to break the silence in the end because he crawled into my bed in the middle of the night crying about divorce and shoving fourteen boxes of Pop Tarts in my face.”

“Fourteen?” Isaac asked.

“It’s Stiles’ favorite number,” Scott replied loyally. Stiles sighed.

“He’s not going to think I hate him, right?” Stiles looked at Allison pleadingly, hoping for a neutral party. Allison immediately schooled her expression from amusement into sympathy.

“You’ll be fine, Stiles,” she reassured him. “I’m sure he’ll text you back any minute.” Then she grinned. “Besides, he _already_ thought you hated him. You can only go uphill from that.”

Stiles groaned loudly, almost missing the ping of a new text message on his phone.

“Check it!” Scott cried frantically, and Stiles wished for the days when his best friend wasn’t so invested in his love life.

“I’m checking it, I’m checking it,” Stiles muttered, deftly pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Don’t have an aneurysm, man.”

Lydia, who was sitting the closest to Stiles, leaned in curiously. “He said _Hi_ ,” she informed them critically, eyeing the phone as if she wanted to give it a piece of her mind.

“Is that bad? That’s bad, right?” Scott asked frantically, but Isaac was already shaking his head.

“Nah,” Isaac said brightly, “Derek doesn’t say much. _Hi_ is probably the best you can hope for.”

“How the hell Stiles is attracted to someone monosyllabic is beyond me,” Danny sighed, coming into the room and handing everyone cups of coffee that he had been making. “Although apparently the man’s arms more than make up for any character flaws.”

Stiles winced. “It’s really not about that, guys. Like, yeah, he’s good looking, but…that’s not it, you know?”

“You actually like this guy,” Danny said in amazement, and it was as if as he said it the entire room understood as well. Stiles watched wearily as each of his friends seemed to have an epiphany about Derek and Stiles—except for Scott. Scott just looked smug.

“I already knew he had _real_ feelings for Derek,” Scott said proudly, and Stiles gave him a little grin and a “Yeah, buddy, you did.”

Stiles really loved Scott.  

“So…what do I say now?” Stiles asked, looking around the room.

It seemed that for once, no one had any suggestions.

\--

“You did _what_?” Laura screeched. Boyd jumped.

“I texted him _hi_ back,” Derek repeated, cowering a little. Laura’s glare was _vicious_.

“He’s going to think you _hate_ him,” she hissed. Boyd slowly began to inch away from her on the couch.

Cora looked unconcerned. “Please, Derek is the _king_ of non-communication. I’m sure all of their conversations result in Derek saying about three or four words.”

“I’m not _that_ stoic—” Derek protested, but Cora was already speaking over him.

“Yeah, well now Derek is trying to _woo_ Stiles, so it’s different. Stiles sent Derek a short text to Derek to give Derek some space. Derek was supposed to show him that he didn’t need space! That the conversation club was open for business!” Laura was growing increasingly hysterical. “How is Stiles supposed to respond to _hi_?!”

Derek’s phone pinged. All of the eyes in the room immediately snapped towards it and Derek resisted the urge to hide it behind his back. Surely everyone was mature enough to let Derek read his own text.

_Annnnd_ , apparently not. Because Derek’s phone was suddenly in between Erica’s long fingers.

“He said…hey!” Erica looked extremely disgruntled and Derek tried to hold off his panic attack. He deftly snatched the phone back from her and focused on the screen.

_From: Stiles Stilinski  
I see you have just as much experience with intrusive friends as I do. _

Derek laughed until he cried.

\--

_Four months later:_

“And…yes. That’s how we got together,” Stiles finished awkwardly, now that he had run out of steam. Sheriff Stilinski did not look impressed. Derek was actually beginning to fear for his life.

“You tortured this young man for _months_ and he still decided to date you?” the Sheriff asked critically. Derek felt his heart sink. He opened his mouth to reply, but—

“Oh, come on, dad! I wasn’t that bad!” Stiles pouted.

“It certainly sounds like you were, son,” Sheriff Stilinski replied, but he looked unbearably fond.

Derek released the breath that he hadn’t even been aware that he was holding. Sheriff Stilinski wasn’t talking about him, he was talking about _Stiles_. Christ.

“Well, Derek, I’m glad to have you over. Stiles hasn’t stopped talking about you for months. It was kind of you to come visit Beacon Hills with him.” The Sheriff had the kind of voice that was both authoritative and kind. Derek felt a pang as he thought of his own father, whom he hadn’t seen in months.

“Thanks for having me, Sheriff,” Derek replied politely. “Stiles has said a lot of great things about you. I see they’re all true.”

The Sheriff looked mildly impressed for a moment before Stiles ruined it by leaning over to his father and muttering, “He’s _never_ that nice to me.”

Derek dropped his head into his hands and the Sheriff began to laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> The passage of Stiles' book that Derek reads out loud is not mine, although I wish it was. It's from my favorite book, American Gods by Neil Gaiman. I used it because I knew that I would never be able to write anything beautiful enough to impress Derek Hale. Stiles didn't write American Gods specifically, because that book doesn't exist in this universe. His book is completely different. It circles around the life of Sam Black Crow and there are no gods.
> 
> Probably ;)
> 
> I'm lydiasbones on tumblr. Come and play!


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